


storm and stress

by sleepy_santiago



Category: The Queen of the Tearling Series - Erika Johansen
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Barebacking, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Stream of Consciousness, more feelings than porn sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23250655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepy_santiago/pseuds/sleepy_santiago
Summary: Two Queen's guards find something in one another.
Relationships: Lazarus/Carroll
Kudos: 9





	storm and stress

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo I apparently wrote this in high school back in 2015 and I just found it in my notes. If any Queen of the Tearling fans are still out there, enjoy I guess haha  
> I haven't edited it cause I don't wanna cringe at past!me's writing. So apologies for that.

Lazarus never quite figured out how he'd let himself get into this mess. It's only for the pleasure, he'd tell himself every time. And it'd always be in vain, because he knew, he always knew, that it was more to it than that. And as he braced himself, on his elbows and knees with his face in a pillow, letting Carroll thrust into him, he knew it was wrong. It was all levels of wrong, and yet…

He bit down on the pillow as he came, inhaling the smell of Carroll's hair. Behind him, with Lazarus clenched tight around him, Carroll climaxed at almost the same time and rested on top of the other man for a moment, breath coming in effortful heaves.

When they'd both come down a bit, Lazarus climbed off Carroll's bed as soon as the other man had rolled off, as usual, and tucked himself back under his own blanket, rolling onto his side, facing away from Carroll.

The room the two guards shared was silent for a while. Lazarus knew for a fact that Carroll was still awake and probably boring holes into his back with a stare--Carroll was never a quiet sleeper. If he wasn't sleep-mumbling or snoring loudly, he'd whistle through his nose or make small snuffling noises.

Carroll wanted Lazarus to stay in bed with him; he knew that. Carroll wanted…more, and he knew it from the way he stole those furtive glances at Lazarus when they were in public, from the way he licked his lips like he wanted to kiss him. He yearned for more than just quick fucks in the dead of the night or in dark, deserted corners of the castle when nobody could possibly walk in on them. And Lazarus wasn't sure what to feel about that. About Carroll. Carroll and his sex-tousled hair, his hot skin pressed up against his body, his fingers and lips that left little marks on his hips and neck and thighs. He liked what they had right now; that was for sure. But what Carroll wanted them to have?

Lazarus stared dispassionately at the stone wall in front of him, listening to Carroll's even-and-obviously-awake breathing. He had always been an intrapersonal man as well as an interpersonal one, and he knew that some part of him, a part he hated and squashed away within the deep, dark reaches of his being, wanted it too. Wanted Carroll. But it just couldn't be. They were Queen's Guards, for goodness' sake. This…whatever it was, it probably wasn't even legal, let alone accepted or tolerated. They had duties. Whatever they had between them could not be allowed to grow, to get any further than comradeship and the occasional hookup.

And so Lazarus continued to grab Carroll by his collar and push them both into empty rooms in the castle when they were both off duty, continued to allow Carroll to shove him into his bed and rip his clothes off, continued to touch and be touched and to enjoy the gratification they brought each other. But he always rolled right out of bed and slipped back into his clothes afterwards, without so much as a glance at the man he knew was pinning his back with a stare. It made his chest tingle and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he didn't know what it was, but his heart would start pounding then, and he'd always hastily get it under control before leaving or getting into his own bed.

Then one day he made his mistake.

Lazarus had never had such a good fuck; he was fighting with all his will to keep his moans inside, biting down on his lip, the pillow, his fist. Carroll, he could tell, was having just as a good a time as himself; his fingers leaving angry pink scratches up and down Lazarus's back and soft purple bruises all over his hips, gripping Lazarus as if he needed him, needed him like he was air and he was suffocating. Lazarus's eyes were practically rolling back in his head and he knew he was close, and then he felt Carroll's hand on his cock, moving up and down and making him whimper wetly into the pillow, and suddenly, right before the orgasm that made stars wink before his eyes, he realized that Carroll needed him.

Lazarus slumped into the mattress, too blissed out and exhausted to even lift a finger. Blackness edged into his blurring vision and before he knew it, he was passed out with Carroll's arm slung across his back, the cooling sweat evaporating from the sheets and off their skin.

"Must've gotten too drunk at the tavern," Lazarus had said gruffly to anyone who'd noticed the purple-red bruises on his neck the next day. He knew Carroll was watching and smirking, abuzz with the knowledge that they'd slept together even though Lazarus had woken up just before dawn, found Carroll spooning him, and quickly but quietly gotten out of the bed.

A few weeks later, Lazarus was on his back with Carroll between his thighs, fucking him deeper than he thought he'd get in this position. With every thrust, Lazarus's cock rubbed against Carroll's toned abdomen and he moaned as the friction brought him closer and closer to the edge. Carroll watched, breath hitching with pleasure, as the other man threw his head back in ecstasy and the tendons in his neck stretched and popped, as his eyelids fluttered and his lips stammered something unintelligible every time Carroll rode over his prostate. Beautiful. That's what Lazarus was. They held eye contact as they neared their climaxes, something new and exciting for both of them as they didn't fuck in this position very often. 

When they finished, Carroll didn't move from his position above Lazarus, his hands on either side of the other man's head. 

"I love you," he gasped.

There was no reaction from Lazarus. For a few excruciatingly long moments, all that could be heard was Carroll's laboured breathing. They looked into each other's eyes, each trying to see deeper into the other.

Though both men had blue eyes, they were very different kinds of blue. Carroll's were a lovely cerulean, friendly, but also with the courage and hardness of a soldier. Lazarus had always privately thought of them as quite pretty. He looked into those open, searching, desperate eyes now and all he saw was a man baring his soul to him. The sincerity, the genuineness, it was all too much for him. He'd only ever cried twice in his life since infancy, but he knew that if he didn't have such masterful control over himself and his own emotions, he'd be a sobbing wreck right now.

Lazarus had dark eyes. They were blue, but they were a greenish, murky blue that looked like an ocean during a storm. It was fitting, since, really, Lazarus was a storm. A great, blustering, bitter storm that had come howling at Carroll and uprooted his entire life. From the moment they'd met, Carroll had known just how damaging this man was. Yet he had stupidly allowed himself to be swept into the man's turbulent winds, and now all he wanted was to drown in him.


End file.
